Compromised by Christmas (37 page)

"I think I have loved you from the moment you turned
to me and said you would curb your disagreeable tendency to speak
directly." He stroked her hair back from her face. "Or perhaps from
the moment I learned you wore scandalous red undergarments."

How had he known about her red shifts? "I thought you
had changed your mind."

"How does one change one's heart?" he murmured
against her hair.

"Max, this is more than I can take in."

He kissed her forehead, then pulled her head to his
shoulder. "Ah, well, you will need me to apply your salve for the
next few days. So shall we see how it goes?"

Was he really willing to give up everything to be
with her? Live in a tiny attic corner, when he had a manse with at
least a hundred rooms? How would he make do without servants when
he employed scores of them?

"Max, the thing is, I have given my heart to a duke
and I think I want to marry him."

"Roxy—"

She cut him off, putting her fingers to his lips.

"Our worlds do not overlap much, and it will present
many challenges, and unfortunately time apart will be inevitable.
But I have been gone near a week and my workers have been able to
keep my dress shop thriving. Perhaps I do not need to be here every
minute. And I do think it would behoove me to spend more time in
society. I had so many ideas for dresses after the house party.
With a few supplies I could design anywhere."

His lips curled up under her fingers.

"What?" she asked, curious as to what made him smile
in the middle of a serious discussion.

"You absolutely beam when you talk of designing
dresses. You should be wearing your creations more often. Besides,
I have already consulted a barrister about turning over the estate
so I might live with you like a commoner."

"Yes, but you see, there is this one thing I want
that you cannot give me as while living as a commoner."

He frowned. "I've rather thought it might be a relief
to be rid of the burdens. There is so much debt and I do not know
that I could find the time to repair your father's estate when I
have so much to manage now."

He might think so now, but Max would never be
satisfied being idle. Roxana leaned and picked up the papers that
had been folded and placed on a shelf. She handed the bill he'd
drafted to him. "I want this."

"It will take me twenty years to get this made to
law."

"We have the time." She shrugged. "That is if you do
not mind marrying a woman whose father is in prison."

"I dropped the criminal charges, so he is only held
for debt. He'll be freed the day your grandfather passes away, but
I've taken precautions to keep him from ever coming around you
again."

"Yes, but Max—what precautions?"

"Guaranteed his loan payments as long as he stays
away from you and your family." Max grimaced. "It is hardly ideal,
but nothing will be paid off for fifty years."

"You did this all in a week?"

"No. I've been to your family's home. I began working
on it months ago, but I did not want to move forward without your
blessing."

"You did not ask for my blessing."

"No. When he did this to you, I decided to act. I
should have preferred to kill him. If I had caught him at this, I
would have strangled him with my own hands."

A shudder of unease passed through her. She heard his
fury and thought he might have been capable of murdering her
father. Just as he had slit the poor fox's throat and tossed Lady
Malmsbury around the room, bashing her into furniture . . . and the
clock. Roxana remembered with sudden clarity why she never wanted
to be married.

"Roxana, I promise you that I will never raise a hand
to you."

She plucked at his shirt. She believed in her head,
but her heart bore wounds that were not so easily ignored.

"Come, love, I have had thirty years of controlling
my behavior—I will not allow myself to behave like a beast."

"But what you did with Lady Malmsbury . . ."

"She had my razor. I was afraid she meant to cut you.
I would do anything to protect you, or any of my own, but I would
never, never strike you." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I
cannot promise you I will never be angry, but I would cut out my
own heart before I would hurt you."

"I cannot promise that I will not be afraid."

"Ah, my brave Miss Winston. I cannot think that you
will be afraid for long. Not just anyone would have set out on
their own and established a flourishing business against her family
and friends' wishes, especially since you could have accepted my
offer of marriage. If I grow too full of choler to contain it, I
will kill a clock or some such."

She reached up and pressed a kiss to his chin. "Very
well, make me your wife."

"Then I would give you one last gift," he said, and
reached into his pocket. He drew out a diamond-and-emerald ring and
pulled up her hand to slide the ring on her finger.

"But I have nothing to give you this Christmas."

"You have already given me your heart; what more
could I need?"

"Plum pudding," said Roxana, identifying the smell
wafting from the basket he had brought.

He glanced reluctantly toward the bed, then pushed
her toward her chair. "Finish eating."

"You know, Max, I would speak plainly."

He draped her napkin in her lap. "Yes."

"I am not so injured as to preclude that." She
gestured toward the bed. "If you could perhaps allow me the
top."

"Dinner is already cold, it can wait." He lifted her
out of her chair and brought her up for a kiss.

"I'll warm it on the stove, later." But they never
made it back to their meal, for they were too busy sharing their
gift of love for each other.

Christmas Eve had dawned cold and dreary, although
Max and Roxana were warm with her new stove heating their little
love bower. The tree filled the air with pine scent and the waxy
smell of burnt candles.

Roxana sat in her padded dressing gown, scraping out
the last of the plum pudding bowl with her finger and licking it.
Hardly the manners of a future duchess, but Max knew she would
never do it in front of anyone but him. He was just happy to see
her appetite back, and he suspected there was more than a hint of
teasing in her slow sliding of her finger out of her mouth.

Max tied on his last clean cravat and bent over to
kiss her. "I have to return to the town house. I have no clean
clothes."

"I'm closing the shop early today. I cannot think I
will have any customers this afternoon."

He smiled, thinking they would have all afternoon and
all day tomorrow to themselves. "This is my happiest Christmas
ever," he whispered into her hair. The only thing that could have
made him happier was to have his whole family back, but that
wouldn't happen.

"Non, non! You cannot go in, sir," protested Madame
Roussard. "You cannot see his grace now."

"Goodness, is it that late already?" asked
Roxana.

Max pulled out his watch. "It is a little past
eight."

"Who do you think it is?" Roxana stretched.

"Scully?" Max shrugged. "They probably found my
note."

"I need to get dressed."

"You won't have to tomorrow, love. I promise." Max
moved to the door as steps thumped on the stairs.

A head cleared the floor and then a familiar body
came into view. It was an apparition. Shock stabbed Max in his
chest. He grabbed the partition wall. Then the apparition hit his
head on the attic roof.

"Even if you don't intend to get any heirs, you
cannot give the estate to Thomas, old fellow," said the apparition
rubbing his crown. "You'll put a spoke in everything."

Ghosts didn't speak and they did not bump their
heads. Max looked back and forth between the two men, barely
absorbing things. Scully stood with his arms folded and that
annoying look of pity on his face.

"Alexander?"

Roxana stood at his back and put her hand on his
shoulder.

"I ought to kill you," said Max. Instead he crossed
the space and clapped his brother to him. "Who the hell did I
bury?"

"More like a what," said Alexander, patting him on
the back. "But that is a whole other story."

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